Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 105815 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105815 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
“I’m not here to fight,” I tell him curtly. “I waited until it was over, and it is over.”
“It’s been a week! You’re not coming back and she’s staying!” he shouts. “How’s that going to work? I mean, are you serious about her?” Disbelief colors his words. Something he reads on my face makes his mouth open. “I don’t believe you. You’re a slut, River, and she’ll figure it out. You can’t keep it in your pants!”
“I did with her!” Barely.
He shakes his head. “So you’re like, what…in love with her?”
“Yes.”
The first time I saw her, before I even knew her name, something was born. I’m in love with the dreamer side of her, her quirky randomness, the way her eyebrows arch, her passion for books, her intelligence, the way she cares for others, no matter who they are. She’s a beginning for me, a future I want.
He paces around the room, stopping periodically to look at me and shake his head. An incredulous sound comes from his throat. “Jesus, you’re a joke as president. You two deserve each other. Enjoy. Just know I was there first and it was fucking spectacular.”
I slam my fist into his face and he falls back on the bed, holding his eye.
He grunts. “You’re a bastard, the worst kind of brother. You put a girl before us. Disloyal as hell.”
Maybe I was…
“It was worth it.”
“She’ll be here. You’ll be there. You can’t hang on to a girl like her.”
He’s hit a nerve, and my hands fist, longing to pound into him, all the pent-up worries I don’t want to think about flaring.
I think about my three things for myself, then I give him his.
“Do great at Harvard. Be a lawyer and help others. And leave us alone. One word to Anastasia, one thing, just one, and I’ll come back and fuck you up.”
I didn’t want this to be ugly, I didn’t, because he was my friend, but when it comes to matters of the heart, ties get severed, and I’m ripping this one right down the middle.
“Get out of my room,” he says as he stands.
“Gladly.” A long breath comes from me as I walk away and leave him there.
He doesn’t follow, and I hear the slam of his door as I hit the staircase.
Wrestling with my emotions for control, I take a seat on a step, my chest rising as I think about Anastasia. That ring of gold around her irises. The way she feels in my arms. Calm settles over me slowly, sinking into my bones.
After grabbing my things from my room and putting them in a duffle, I hit the basement and say hi to the pledges and a few brothers who are hanging around. I tell Benji I’m not coming back, but I can’t tell anyone else. If I make it public now, the media will catch on, then all hell will break loose. I give them hugs that signify This might be the last time I see you. Will Donovan drag my name through the mud? Probably, and it’s okay. The ones who know me, who see me for who I am, will get it.
She isn’t temporary.
She’s the ultimate goal.
Yeah, I’m leaving her, and I know it cuts her, it has to, but I have to.
An hour later, I walk out and stand in the front yard to look at the house, sadness tugging at me.
I came.
I saw.
I didn’t conquer.
But it’s time to move on.
Getting a degree was never my dream. Playing football and Anastasia are, and I’m going to do what Mom said: put my hands on it and take it, take it.
That afternoon, I pace around my house, my head tumbling. I’ve talked to Mom and Rae on the phone. I’ve touched base with Coach Taylor and we’ve made a plan to make an announcement to the press after the holidays. I’ve made some tweaks to my reservation at the ski lodge, and now I’m jonesing to see her. We only have a couple of days left.
When she shows up at my door, serenity replaces the nerves. Her cheeks are flushed as she beams and shows me the flat boxes and packing tape. She’s got a grocery bag looped over her arm. “I have supplies for last-minute packing and food for us tonight.”
“Great. I picked up some boxes too.”
She studies my face as she comes in the door and I help her with the bags. “You okay?”
“Yeah. It feels good to have it done with him.” I set the groceries on the kitchen counter.
She doesn’t ask how it went. I’ll tell her later. He’s irrelevant now.
She moves to stand next to me and takes my hand. “How much stuff do you have to ship home?”
“Not much: my clothes, shoes, trophies, gifts I picked up for Callie. My bedroom furniture is cheap, and I’ll leave it. I have to warn you—my shit is everywhere. My closet…you might need a hazmat suit. I own more shoes and clothes than most girls.” I pause, feeling off-kilter. “Thank you for helping me pack up three and a half years.”